The Yin Wife
by dorcas
Summary: Chichi offers to take Bulma camping on her land, promising Vegeta that she will protect his mate. It's meant to be a reminiscient trip for the two wives of Saiyans; however, when an old enemy rears its head once more, can Chichi keep her word, or will the prince arrive too late? Chichi-centric. Post-Cell. GC and VB by principle.
1. Offer

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the heinously popular (and rightfully so) series Dragonball Z, and though I wish I were, I'm not making money off of this.

Here is my bit of DBZ fanfiction. This'll actually be my first really serious attempt at a multi-chapter, because though I've delivered some stunning oneshots (ahem) I tend to lose the flame with long commitments. So here's hoping I make it!

* * *

"Would you like to go camping?"

Bulma blinked. In all the time she had known Chichi, the younger woman had never taking the initiative to suggest a leisurely activity. Safety procedures and courtesy protocols she had plenty of resources on, whether for a trip to a hot spring or to the geology/rock museum (Bulma had been very careful to steadfastly refer to it as the ROCK museum, knowing that a museum of 1980's records and posters was _not_ in compliance with Chichi's educational plan for four-year-old Goten), but the most Bulma had come to expect from Chichi's fun department was Parcheezi played with custom-made player pieces—made by the players because things usually got out of hand, or ki-blasted out of hand, in the spirit of competition.

What was most surprising, Bulma thought as she took a pensive sip of her tea, was the phrasing of the question as an invitation. "Us and the kids? Don't you think they're a little young?" Trunks had just turned five, and though no other years could compare to those when he would stuff his face with any_thing_ in sight, Bulma found the fussy stage he was currently going through trying. If everything wasn't just so, he wouldn't sleep, or play, or even eat—for example, if she squirted the mustard on the bun and not the hot dog. "I don't think I could handle Trunks out in the wilderness, not now, anyway," she elaborated.

"I was thinking, actually," said Chichi, "of leaving them with a babysitter, and just us two going."

Bulma nearly dropped her tea. "Leaving them?" Chichi saying this calmly? When the Sahara Desert floods! "What are you up to? Is something wrong?" she asked, growing alarmed.

Chichi placed her own cup down on the rich mahogany coffee table of Bulma's rich house. Her expression was faintly surprised at Bulma's reaction, but still calm. She smiled reassuringly. "Nothing's wrong. If something were wrong I would never leave my children, you know that."

"So", Bulma narrowed her eyes searchingly. "You're not running away and taking me with you to perform ritual suicide?"

Now Chichi recoiled, eyes wide. "Heavens, what a ghastly imagination!" She only laughed when she saw Bulma grinning mischievously. "I do have seppuku swords in reserve just for the occasion," Chichi said, waggling her finger. Bulma smiled indulgently. Vicious in combat and hair-raising in volume her friend could be, but sarcastic she never would.

"Any particular reason, then?" she prodded.

"No, just—do you have work to do? We don't have to go if you have business."

"Of course not," Bulma waved the reticence away. She would never have business where her friends were concerned. "You know if I didn't get a break one in a while I'd just keep going and burn out. I was thinking I was about due for a free weekend. Or did you have a time in mind?"

"If this weekend is all right for you, I would appreciate your company," Chichi said warmly.

"Super." The women took another sip. Bulma noted it was cooling rapidly, then thought to ask, "So where are we going? And who are the kids going to?"

Chichi looked at the coffee tabled to gather her thoughts and back at her friend. "Well, the way it seems to me is that your parents are much too old to be handling the boys' energy. My father is even less trustworthy; he's getting so on in years. I thought Krillin and 18 would be able to tire them out, at least, but Krillin says it would be too crowded on the island, so they would have to go camping, too, and that would just be Krillin and the boys since 18 won't let Marron too far from home. What a good mother she's turned out to be," she commented approvingly, but in the same breath continued, "despite her violent programming." She was forever making judgments that seemed petty, but Bulma figured it came with the territory of being an old-style princess without too much money to back up the name; no affording lookovers of character. "I do not wish to bother Piccolo with the task—he's already received Gohan so often lately he could snap at the kids. Goten isn't so well-behaved as Gohan," she admitted, smiling.

Bulma was glad her friend had slowly begun to accept Goku's friends as her own. Chichi, unlike her husband, held grudges. Bulma supposed this too had to do with a princess' pride. "Even if 18 were to go camping with everyone I doubt she'd do anything to protect anyone but her baby," she pointed out. "Even if Godzilla attacked the island. I bet the boys would be just as safe camping with Krillin as anywhere on the planet."

"Provided they don't choose any Ring of Fire islands," murmured Chichi darkly over her tea.

The humor caused Bulma to breathe out swiftly in a silent guffaw. "Krillin and Gohan would carry them away, you know that," she said merrily, so Chichi nodded and smiled. Reaching over for a cookie, a notion struck her. "Can't you fly, too?"

She looked genuinely surprised. "Goku tried to teach me once, after he returned from space, if I recall, but I was so focused on him I didn't want to concentrate. Anyway, Kinto'un is still with us. I sometimes use it for grocery shopping, when Gohan doesn't. Me, flying," she laughed, tickled at the idea. "You should ask Vegeta to show _you_ sometime."

Now Bulma laughed. "Vegeta would sooner teach me rhythmic gymnastics than teach me to fly. How would he get away from me and my nagging?"

"Easily," game a gruff reply, startling both women out of their laughter. How he managed to be gruff with a voice so silky eluded Bulma, but it annoyed her when he was able to sound nicer than he was. Vegeta entered the coffee/living room from the kitchen, holding two Gatorades and a Red Bull.

"What are you doing with those?" Bulma asked quizzically. "Like you need more energy!"

"I'm confiscating them from Trunks," informed Vegeta.

"Oh, well, in that case," Bulma turned to Chichi confidingly. "Better err towards the lesser evil."

"Who are you calling lesser? I'm still drinking them," said the prince, moving to the staircase.

Bulma rolled her eyes and braced herself in advance for the night. "Oh!" she said. "I guess I should tell you since you're here. I'm not going to be here the day after tomorrow. Or the day after that."

"Do I find your maggot-infested carcass the day after that?"

Chichi grimaced while Bulma beamed. "Maybe if you look for it. It's entirely possible I could be mauled by a tiger, or poisoned by a platypus, or stabbed by a unicorn. And you will have come too late to see it."

"You don't fool me," said Vegeta. "That second one doesn't exist." Chichi stifled a giggle of amusement. He fixed her with a long-suffering stare and said to Bulma, "This isn't a business trip?"

"If it were I wouldn't bother telling you," she replied. "Where we're going I might get scared if we decide to do something fun, and I don't want you rushing in and blowing stuff up."

"'We'?" he queried, turning to face them fully and forgetting to contradict her assuming that he cared for her well-being.

"Chichi's offering to take me camping." She took another cookie.

Vegeta regarded the wife of his deceased foe coldly. "What makes you so generous? The woman has standards." Insulting her financial status was low on the scale of acidic remarks, but he had to communicate he didn't like the idea of Bulma spending even more time with her, the banshee.

She answered calmly, meeting his eyes. _I too am royalty_. "I hadn't explained to Bulma that I did want this to be traditional camping, using tents and not capsules, but if she wants to prepare for more than that it is up to her. She will be my guest."

"Your guest?" piped up Bulma, making a face. "How will this be fun if we're only going to be at Mt. Paozu?"

"No need to worry about that," smiled Chichi, glad her friend was becoming eager. "Not just my house, but the mountain and all the land surrounding it until the town is under the Frying Pan name. We can go wherever we like."

"As long as you don't come back whining about not being able to relax with Trunks making trouble." Vegeta resumed his long walk to the staircase.

"No problem," sang Bulma. "Trunks and Goten will be with Krillin and Gohan."

He stopped, paused, and pivoted, looking stern and put-upon. "Then who's going with you?"

"No one. We'll be all by ourselves, out in the wilderness, braving the elements."

"And expecting _me_ to come get you when you find you can't survive."

"I already said I'd rather you didn't come ruin it. You won't feel a thing, I swear," she said, referring to his ability to sense her miniscule ki spikes of distress.

"Until the unicorn gets her," interjected Chichi unexpectedly, throwing them into a fit while Vegeta glared at the both of them.

He was not amused. "You humans," he sneered, "so far removed from your own world you go out of your way to expose yourselves to it. Yes, I'll expect a scream from you, but don't look for me. I won't come." He stood with his three drinks turning tepid in his hands, and his face was stubborn and fearsome.

Chichi looked at him. She saw the root of the problem and felt her honor speaking to her heart. She said, "I thought I made it clear Bulma will be a guest on my land. I will take full responsibility for her safety. I assure you I am quite capable of defending her; I have fought before and I will if the need arises." She gave a gentle smile. "Would it help if I said I will treat her as my own sons?"

"Ex_cuse_ me?" said Bulma, pouting at how little credit she was getting, though she now felt extremely safe.

Vegeta seethed. "I didn't ask for your assurances," he spat at her, then zoomed up the stairs, cracking the first step in his wake. She looked after him, marveling at how unlike Goku he was, how unappreciative of sentiment and sincerity he was. How they were both of the same race bewildered her at every meeting.

"Don't be upset," Bulma said. "He's just mad he was found out."

"I hope you don't mind my doubting that," Chichi put a hand to her cheek mildly.

"Oh, for the first year he really tried not to get back into the swing of things, but now he even watches TV with me, and not just horror," the blue-haired genius gushed. Chichi privately wondered how TV-watching counted as quality time. "I think you did great. Standing up for yourself without yelling," she sighed. "I wish I did that more often."

"So do I," said Chichi honestly. _At least, _she thought morosely, _I wish I had. _

Bulma took yet another cookie. "I have to take only one of these at a time or I'll get fat. How the hell did you make these so good?"

"It involves the pummelling of dough, and you would need the muscles of a fighter to do it."

"Fighter cookies?" Bulma chewed slowly, asking though one side of her mouth. "Why does it have to be so hard?"

"Because I make forty pounds of it to last an evening's dessert plus a modest gift for a friend."

Bulma stared at her friend's relaxed, content face, at the gift of three dozen minus eight cookies, and moaned. "You set the standard so high, Chi! I'll never be a real wife!"

"Nonsense!" said Chichi placatingly. "You show your love in other ways, that's all! You make a wonderful wife!"

"It's a wonderful wife who has all the nearest take-outs at the top of her contacts," wailed Bulma.

"Don't be silly," said Chichi. "Trunks and Vegeta know you love them, that's all that counts. What's more, you're beautiful, talented, and strong in a fashion all your own. A wonderful wife indeed you are!" she concluded.

Bulma cut off her sniffles and smiled ingratiatingly. "You're right. I know. I just wanted to hear it said." At that moment the doorbell rang. They heard Gohan speak with Mrs. Briefs. "Well then, call me tomorrow for the logistics and I'll be ready for Friday afternoon. I'll try to keep the capsules to a minimum," she winked as they stood and went to the door.

Gohan stood with Kinto'un hovering above his head. "Hey Mom! I brought Kinto'un so maybe I could go to Mr. Piccolo's?" he asked with a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

"I think not," answered Chichi crisply. "You'll be having quite enough rough housing with Krillin this weekend and I don't want to buy more clothes than could be avoided. Goodbye, Bulma, thank you for the tea, and I will call at four." As Bulma closed the door behind her she saw the teenager light up. What a nice thing for the tightly wound warrior woman to do. She wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Years ago she never would have accepted, but the time comes when one must allow a person to act kindly of their own volition, and this must be it for Chichi. 'And now,' she thought, bracing herself, 'I have my "husband" to take on…'


	2. Setting Up

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Dragonball Z. Akira Toriyama does.

Spring made Chichi's flights smooth soaring on Kinto'un. Flying used to be her favorite way to travel. Goku, who didn't drive, had obligingly lifted her to wherever she specified, be it the mall (apprehensively) or the waterfall deposit (ecstatic with anticipation). She had always been busy keeping house, and those flights allowed their love to flow between them, without words, only the heart they shared directing them. In the sky she could strip him of his faults, leaving only the warmth of his strong yet bubbly ki and the firmness of his fighter's arms. After his return from his day in the Room of Time she had both he and Piccolo get their licenses, out of necessity and because she wanted him to break from training, but it was a decision she deeply regretted. Wasn't normalcy what she had yearned for, the semblance of an average family environment? Yet the automobile was cold, and Goku's ki was subdued, and she couldn't admit that she had been wrong when he had complied to her witless demand only because he thought it was what she wanted. Once he could drive the car, flying became one less thing it was practical to do together, meaning it was up to him to suggest it, and she had signaled to him she would rather not. So the few final days were without trips in the air. What messes she had made of small things!

But now, flying to Capsule Corp, she only spent the time recollecting those precious heartbeats she had cherished with her late husband. Flight would never be melancholy for her; it was the rest of what threatened to fill her days that slowed her hands and shut her eyelids.

Kinto'un swooped low and Chichi leapt lightly off to land at the door. From there she heard a cacophonous shrieking, from whom she guessed were both child and mother inside. What made it a different sound from that which she normally found was that the child was Bulma and the mother Mrs. Briefs.

"What have you done?! I made that stew especially for that jerk, and now you've ruined it!"

"I don't see what all this hullaballoo is about! I only made some minor adjustments, you know, to make it presentable."

"The point was that it would be all MINE! Mother, how dare you? Now I have to fix it!"

"Dear, there's no need for anything rash—vanilla extract doesn't belong in st—NOOO! See what you've done, you reckless tomboy!"

"IT'S SOY SAUCE! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

"It WASN'T, and you've dumped it all in! How could I raise such a senseless daughter!"

"WhatEVER, he won't notice! Half the time he just dumps—" Chichi rang the doorbell, which was set to a popular radio tune, all but impervious to the noise. "Oh, that must be Chi-chan." Abruptly the clamor halted and three beats later the door opened to reveal Bulma, flush-faced but looking happy to see her. "I'm almost done, we can leave in ten minutes, I swear," she said, waving Chichi to the living room. She saw the younger woman to the sofa and then marched back to the kitchen, shoulders rising ominously.

Chichi sat there for three minutes, hands neatly closed in her lap. These distractions happened often enough during her visits that she had learned to tune out the dissonance and meditate while staring ahead in an attentive pose. Midway through the fourth minute she became aware of Vegeta standing by the sofa. He was listening to the clatter in the kitchen. She hesitated, then offered, "Bulma says it's going to be a surprise."

He didn't reply, not changing his stance. She shrugged and faced forward again. He said quietly, "Don't think you can get away with it." She turned to him, taken aback. "I can sense your unrest. Before you try anything, know that you will be monitored." As his lips formed the last word his eyes slid to gauge her puzzled expression. Displeased that she wasn't defensive, but satisfied at least that he had conveyed what he had meant to, he turned on his heel and strode to the door outside. Chichi knew it led to the Gravity Room.

She was watching the door, wondering at his behavior, when Bulma entered. Her hair was frazzled, as if swatted at, but she leaned cheerily over the back of the sofa to lock a sideways glance with her visitor. "No worries, I've got my bag ready, so I'll meetcha outside, k?" she winked and glided past Chichi's demure "Certainly" to snatch a modest duffel bag from a hidden trapdoor. She didn't have to make the trek to her befroom to know the decoy suitcase she had prepared had vanished without a trace. No doubt her permanent houseguest had planned further delay, but she was pumped for the trip and the only way she could get going without affronting his royal sensitivity was to avoid him altogether. As she exited the mansion she felt a scowl directed at her from above, but she knew once she was in public he wouldn't be likely to make a scene and admit to his "partialty".

"Are you ready?" asked Chichi, standing expectantly by Kinto'un.

Bulma laughed. "You know I can't ride that!" Then she covered her mouth, having confessed her sinful nature. Chichi blushed for her, but she ignored the stammering and plucked a capsule from her pocket. "I bet we can get there faster in a jet," she suggested, tossing it within her palm fondly. Chichi hesitated, always the traditionalist, but smiled.

* * *

She wasn't smiling when they landed. There were only a few times in her entire adult life where Chichi had been a passenger in aviation machinery, and she recalled each experience with less happiness than that last. It just so happened that one of few technical skills Bulma Briefs had not inherited from her father was the ability to pilot. The best Chichi could do was hold her insides together long enough to point out a fitting site, and then endure the arduous process of landing.

The jet was parked over a period of ten minutes, in the spacious clearing about a hundred or so feet from a waterfall deposit. There were many waterfalls on Mt. Paozu, owing to the glacial activity most prominent in the 22nd century. There were far too many, actually, for Chichi's liking; she remarked this to her guest as they stepped out. "If they weren't so beautiful I would do away with them, they are so dangerous," she said, easily imagining Gohan (in her mind he remained a perpetual baby) going over the rapids and into thin air, hurtling to his doom.

"Well, you gotta take the bad with the good," said Bulma tritely. She checked the dimensions of the temporary living facility she would be activating. Fortunately the ground was level away from the bank and sparsely decorated with tufts of grass. "Stand clear a second," she warned Chichi, and threw the capsule underhanded, immediately covering her ears so the explosion's BOOM would be dulled. When the clouds settled, the house stood, whole, domed, and welcoming to Bulma, who was raised with the technology. Beside her Chichi shook, her senses attacked by the monstrosity's bloom.

"But the one we use for the car sounds…" she rasped, hands gingerly cradling her ears.

"Like a Pokeball, right?" Chichi blinked, having never heard of the obscure 20th century series. She let it pass and moved to the entrance, motioning for Chichi to follow. "Ready for the grand tour?"

"Oh, er," Chichi started. "But I've already prepared a tent for myself, you see, and I don't wish to intrude—" But her frivolous friend was already marching her over to the door, as usual disregarding any protests not in her favor. Well, this time the duo were on Chichi's turf. She planted her feet firmly in said turf and held herself sturdy while Bulma nearly tipped over. "You know me well enough to understand where I'm coming from," she said gently to Bulma's betrayed gaze, "when I say I would rather set up my tent." She brightened. "While I do that, you can go swimming or exploring."

"Exploring?" Bulma laughed, making Chichi blush in embarrassment. It had slipped—all three of her boys were naturally curious, which she usually counted on to keep them occupied while she put things in order during their outings. "What are we, five? If you don't mind, I think I'll start on my tan. Time's a wastin'!" And she disappeared into the Capsule Corp house, giving no sign of having been affronted.

* * *

By the time Chichi emerged from the completed tent, Bulma had turned herself over. She looked upward and waved weakly to her host, who wondered what would make someone choose to drain herself so efficiently. Draped along her left arm was her woven beach towel, brought to lay on the grass, but beside the whiz woman was another lawn chair. This time Chichi smiled at her friend's thoughtfulness. "How is the sun?" she asked as she approached.

"Not brutal like the beach—maybe a little too mild, but that's probably for the best," mumbled Bulma. She rested on her belly, and couldn't be bothered to use diction. As Chichi spread her towel an image on it caught her eye. "Yin-Yang? That's what you call an archaic symbol. What's it stand for, you know, for you?"

"Oh, well, it means many different things…" Chichi smoothed a large wrinkle before she lay herself neatly on her spine.

"For you, though?"

"For me, it's a motivational reminder. I use it to think about my boys and how I raise them." Not wanting to expand on this, she artfully changed the subject. "A beach towel was one thing I forgot to pack for Gohan's trip to Namek. I hope he didn't need one!"

Though it was sudden, Bulma took the shift easily, accustomed to her mood swings. "Nah, we didn't even need lawn chairs—though by the way they strolled off the ship, at first I thought they would make it a vacation!"

"You're joking! I thought you all went there to rescue everyone from death!"

"I'm joking," assured Bulma. "Man, Namek! We were only there for a little longer than a week, but that was the longest fight they've ever been in. When you think about it, the others didn't even last a whole day. Boy, a lot sure happened while we were waiting for Son-kun, but it's a good thing we kept the bad guys busy all that time."

"How…do you mean, exactly?" forced out Chichi. She had naturally asked Gohan all about Namek as soon as her little boy's grief for his father began to ebb, but he proved reticent, reluctant to relinquish his experiences, and she had withdrawn her interrogation, willing to let them remain his alone. But she could probe Bulma's memories anytime. Her friend had already regaled her with all her stories, enjoying the reactions she could draw, and being fond of encores. After more than ten years, Bulma remembered quite a lot of details and was all too happy to let Chichi in on them.

"Once the ship was blown up, Krillin and Gohan went to check out the kis they were sensing before, and after that it was just a scramble for the dragon balls. They brought Dende, then Krillin took him to see the elder, but by the time he came back Gohan had gone off to find another dragon ball with the radar—" Bulma was sure to phrase this so she wouldn't be blamed, "—and returned intact despite having met Vegeta on the way—Gohan tricked him, you know—Vegeta still fumes if you mention it—but they both left me again so Gohan could get a power boost. It was a few hours before I saw them again, and that was only a couple seconds! And even then, geez, if you'd been there maybe you'd have done something, but Vegeta was with them, and as soon as they left I had a thousand questions but I couldn't chase after them so—so I had to wait again." As if she had just thought of it, she paused and looked at her audience. "What was I there for, again?"

Chichi began to laugh, which allowed Bulma to join. "Why, to supervise of course!" They both approached hysteria at the thought of Bulma throwing her weight among even the meekest of the Z fighters. Their gaiety went unchecked for half a minute, and Chichi was grateful for the moment. She felt the tension she carried with her melt out of her shoulders and back. She sat up and Bulma followed. "Our men—they're real handfuls. I can never tell who does the real work."

"Us," said Bulma breathlessly. "Always us, cleaning up after them!"

"We let them do these things. We're enablers." Chichi rarely laughed whole-heartedly, and it was allowing her to say this objectively.

"And they love us for it. I wouldn't change a thing I've done." Bulma stretched like a cat reveling in its own glory. Chichi didn't answer.

Just then, there came a sound, invading the quietude. It was a softened thump, and another soon followed. The two women looked at each other, faces draining as they judged the proximity. The beats into the earth sent ominous vibrations up Chichi's legs, her feet feeling for a picture. She stood and collapsed the lawn chair, folding her towel smartly. She asked Bulma off-handedly, "Would you like to go inside for a bit?"

"Thanks, but maybe we'd better just move. Gohan can take care of these things singlehandedly, but we don't have a—" Suddenly the footsteps sped up, and before Bulma could stand a dinosaur had crunched his way through the trees and entered the clearing with a boastful, triumphant, fifty-decibel roar.

"I think you'd better get inside, Bulma," said Chichi.

* * *

A/N: Next chapter has the first action scene! Well, it's not exactly my forte, but part of why I wanted to do this story was to back up Chichi's fierceness, to vindicate her? I thought it'd be nice. As you've probably guessed, last chapter was more of a prologue, so the tone from here on out will be less on the humor and more experimentation on my part to flesh out certain common ideas. Hope I'm not sounding precocious or pretentious! This is just something I thought I'd share. Till next time!


	3. Eviction From Life

**Disclaimer**: I do not own DBZ, Akira Toriyama does. I only remember his name because I'm a subscriber of TeamFourStar. Please support the official release of the anime, though personally I like the manga when I don't wish to listen to three minutes of power-ups at a time. But then, the anime has filler, and though much of it is Hercule there's still some that's relevant to the fans.

I think you probably realize that the chapters are getting a bit shorter each time, but don't worry, I've outlined all the chapters and have committed to six pages for each on notebook paper. I think what happened is I used loopier handwriting; if I catch that I'll take it up a notch to seven pages. This chapter is about Chichi backing up her tough words.

1652011652011652011652011652 01

"Well, if you insist," said Bulma, and she bolted for the door of her Capsule Corp camping house.

Luckily it was only a few feet away, and though the allosaurus' eyes glittered watching the blue-haired woman duck in, it didn't move. It was storing the information for later, Chichi knew. Unlike the T-rex family in the area, which was always good for a scuffle with the boys, this allosaurus was a veteran fighter, so tenacious her Goku had deemed it unfit to honorably terminate. After he'd left Gohan had kept up the tradition, engaging it, letting it employ stratagem, and then simply leading it (or lifting it) away from the house. For years Chichi had thought the exchange nonsensical, warning that if she ever met it, it would meet its end, and Gohan, though forever trying to follow his father, had eventually agreed not to stop her if it came to that. Even he could see this was a monster given too much power over the land, and the spars weren't worth the absence of moose and apatosaur (that was where Goten agreed most heartily).

Now her chance had come at last. But the task of destroying the allosaur was one she had put on the back burner for so long, she had neglected to formulate a plan. She stood in the clearing by the false home, firmly rooted but caught unprepared. The trees hedging the area were deciduous. Because it was an old forest they had achieved a height just over that of the allosaurus. Why that was notable evaded her at the moment, but she would find a use for it.

The allosaurus had finished evaluating her and found her decidedly non-threatening. She hadn't bothered to throw up her battle aura; she didn't want it to run away. It gave a roar of elation at an easy meal, crouched, and charged at the house.

"Eek!" came the voice of its cowering inhabitant.

Chichi broke her relaxed and ready stance. She shifted her weight to her left leg, raised her arms high over her head, and waited. The monster, twenty feet away, took no notice of her change and picked up its speed, intent on ramming the house. She braced herself, had the fleeting consideration that her fighting style hadn't addressed giants, but resolved to make adjustments (as in sewing, she thought brightly). The dinosaur didn't go out of its way to avoid her, but intended to crush her in step. In a second she caught its foot and pushed, weighing the dinosaur's might against her own and determined to come out on top. She slid back an inch, and that was all she allowed. She held the dinosaur still. "What's the matter, Bulma-san?" she called over her shoulder to the house. "Don't you have any faith in me?"

"Oh, you know," returned the former dragon ball hunter. She sounded shocked; her voiced wavered. "It's just that I'm used to being protected by big strong men."

The allosaurus had momentarily gone stiff with amazement at the absurdity, but now it roared to remind them of its dominance. Chichi strained; the dinosaur couldn't lean all of its bulk onto its leg because of its built-in attention to balance, but it could push its foot down to try crushing her into the dirt gradually. Unfortunately for it she found she had underestimated herself. Not only did she refuse to crumple, she straightened up to her full height, tilting the beast backward slightly so that it waved its ludicrously tiny arms helplessly. Then, in a stroke of ingenuity she moved back along the foot to its front, where three four-foot long claws protruded from three thick, grimy toes. The reptile, being ticklish, held back a sneeze.

Chichi considered what she was about to do. Any city-dweller would call it cruel and sadistic, but she recalled Goku committing similar crimes of inhumanity (as dubiously as the term could be applied to him) even on his most gentle moods, and she knew it was only a matter of practicality, that Saiyan gravitation toward food leading him. Country people knew where the line was between people and animals, and mercy was sometimes a luxury not to be bestowed on troublemaking varmints. And after all, she thought as she gripped the long index talon, the creature did come close to eating Goten. The incident was handled by Gohan, of course, but his brother had been smacked through three trees, and in the end he had to admit the folly of allowing the brute free reign of the land.

With that in mind, Chichi smiled grimly and pulled. There was a sickening crack, a shriek from the onlooker, and the claw came free at the joint.

The allosaurus screamed in pain, and as she held its claw out to let the blood and flesh residue fall it screamed again. With one leg up which it could not bear to put down, the tail no longer provided sufficient balance. Slowly the giant toppled over onto its back with a resounding thud. Both feet were in the air now, but just the one spurted blood. Chichi watched, fascinated, as a quart of it splashed the window Bulma was using. "Oh! Ugh! Ew! Toe blood! Chichi that was _barbaric_!"

"This is your barbarian," answered the country mother, shaking the claw at the allosaurus. She focused on the memory of Goten's teary face, unharmed but frightened, not understanding his failure to make friends. It fueled her, quelled her doubts, and she turned back to the dinosaur. It was reeling in anguish on its back, making horrible self-pitying moans. It touched its unwhole foot to the ground and immediately howled. Chichi watched without sympathy as it rocked side to side throwing away its energy. Then it heaved forward, fell back, and finally rolled over down the bank and into the waterfall deposit.

Chichi was surprised. She had never known a carnivorous dinosaur to retreat so easily. "Is it safe?" peeped Bulma.

"No," she said. She stood, waiting, then realized the game and huffed. "The scum wants to play peek-a-boo," she told Bulma, not wishing a heart attack on her friend. She held the claw closer, testing her grip. It wasn't a blade, but she'd thought to stab the dinosaur's throat with it; however she could see that it would be useless. The tip was sharp, but the claw was curved do the only way to achieve a clean shot would be a boomerang throw, and she had no such expertise. She let it fall to the ground. She felt Bulma's eyes on her and knew she had better end it quickly. She walked primly to the water's edge, let out her breath, and stuck out her head so the monster lurking below could see it.

Just as she predicted, the giant's head shot up, jaws gaping. She moved her upper body back out of the way, checked her foothold on the bank, and ducked under the head to grab its neck with both hands. Launching herself off the bank she used the ridge of leathery hide to steady herself in midair, and then, after a moment's effort, heaved the entire allosaurus out of the water and into the clearing.

"Chichi, what are you doing?! Shouldn't we let him go down the river?!" Bulma advised supportively.

"I'm sending him farther than that," shouted Chichi, running to catch her foe before his wits did. "I'll send him to Kingdom Come!"

She took the allosaurus by the tail; it let out an indignant yelp which she ignored. In her mind she brought the map of the land to the forefront. She stamped her right foot twice facing south in order to affix the direction. She squeezed the tail and, praying her back wouldn't fail her, began swinging. The beast dragged along the surface for two rounds, but she had him lifted off by the third. At the fifth circle he quit his bewildered state and belatedly began struggling, but Chichi had gotten momentum, and if a tsunami hit she would not stop. She gave it six more rounds, was certain, and let go with a yell, sending the allosaurus flying.

She spun once to buffer her bones, then watched her handiwork. Her plan had worked. South of the camping site by four miles was the nearest wall of Mt. Paozu, and the allosaurus was hurtling straight for it. Already she could no longer see it, but she counted, three, four, five—and there was the satisfying crunch of a skull caving in. She could only barely hear it over her heavy breathing, but she was sure of it. She turned gaily to the house. "It's done!"

Bulma ran out to meet her, flustered. "Geez, Chichi, that was crazy! I mean, I've seen Son-kun do that sort of thing plenty of times, but for some reason I thought you were too normal, so I was thinking about calling for help, but you, you freakin' thrashed that sucker!" She peered after the dinosaur, and Chichi could see the beginnings of a makeshift two-way radio in her hands. The genius always was inclined to mechanics during times of stress. "What do you think happened to him?" she asked, not having heard the tell-tale crunch.

"He's dead," said Chichi sunnily. "I tossed him over to the mountain. The body should keep till next week in the snow, but we can go to collect it sooner if you'd like."

"Collect it? For what?"

"For storage. Gohan's always been partial to carnivores, just like his father." At Bulma's revulsion she explained her own reasoning. "Such a large amount of meat would be a terrible waste, don't you think? Especially seeing as he'd already done away with most of the velociraptors—those usually cleaned up, before he made this his territory." She could see she wouldn't convince the city-dweller, so she walked over to the discarded claw. "What do you think, would this make a nice peg for a tent, just for now? Until I figure out what to do with it, I mean."

"Are you serious? That's disgusting!" Bulma shuddered.

* * *

Far away from the mountains, in West City, the gravity room began to shut down. The lights within dimmed their glow and the thin wail of the power subsided to a hum which dwindled to silence. The door hissed open, and out stepped Vegeta. The door closed behind him and he slowly made his way to the kitchen, brooding.

If anyone else were on the grounds they might have commented on how early he was halting his training, but as it happened he had no one to sneer at. The woman's parents, the fools, had followed their daughter's suit and gone for a weekend at a hotel on the coast, reasoning that Trunks wasn't there to babysit, and after all Vegeta was a full-grown man. Several years earlier, if this opportunity had come up, would he have taken advantage of it? And what would he have done? That morning he had awoken, as it seldom happened, later than his mate, and once fully dressed was confronted by a photo on the door. It was of her, of course, the narcissist, but she had manipulated it digitally to insert a white bubble able to contain words so that it appeared that this two dimensional mate of his was cheerily reminding him, "Don't do anything I wouldn't!" with a wink and a waggling finger. He had scoffed, swiped it off the door, and stuffed it in his pocket. She trusted him, after these short years; otherwise she wouldn't dare with such idiocy.

He sat at the head of the table, gobbling three identical salami-tuna-provolone-cheese-orange-pepper-tomato-and-olives sandwiches, and thinking about whether he should have told her where her son was _really_, but decided it wasn't an issue. He wouldn't worry, but she would, and he'd end up chasing the lot of them. The best course had been taken in omission of fact.

But Vegeta had sensed something while training. Yes, there was the matter of that strange shot in the dark, of a feeling that wasn't his, coming from outside. He didn't want to believe it, but his naturally restless mind went ahead and analyzed it, confirming the source. It was Bulma, apprehensive of some danger, but also, he found, expectant. What puzzled him was that she was not actually reaching for him with her fear, but was expectant of someone else to ward off the attacker. Vegeta slurped up a tomato slice, begrudgingly considering Chichi, but it was impossible for a weakling human female to defend against much.

He checked in again, reaching out for Bulma's mind, and found it frazzled but at ease. The attacker had been disposed of, and she felt vindicated in her trust. Vegeta momentarily set his sandwich down, at a loss as to how he should take this. He grunted, resolved to ignore it until they next met, and resumed his meal in silence.


	4. Heart Talk

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Dragon Ball Z. That honor belongs to Akira Toriyama; please support the official release.

Chapter 4

"I'm glad I didn't have to use the trees after all."

"What?"

Chichi was roasting the fish they had caught soon after the attack. The dinosaur's brief submersion hadn't alarmed many fish to human presence. They knew the big boys weren't interested in small fry. Bulma had sat at the edge with a pole while Chichi had leapt across and plucked them out by hand. She had bagged eight, while Bulma seemed to be zoning out, listless in delayed shock as the line went taut and slack in turn. Chichi had placed a hand on her back to gently lead her to the house, and she had started, taken a step away and regarded the body part with wary awe. Now as Chichi handed her one of the fully cooked fish she tried engaging her again. This went against the norms of their relationship, so she was self-conscious. "At first I was thinking, 'how will I do this?' and 'I hope I won't have to snap one', grasping at straws I suppose, the trees seemed important for a bit. I didn't know how so, though," she rattled.

"No, that sounds practical. Aren't fighters supposed to take advantage of their surroundings?" Bulma said this slowly, measuring her words, but Chichi was relieved to see that her eyes agreed with her smile.

"Quite right," she confirmed. "But planning can become a liability if it claims more attention than the fight at hand. I could have done something great if I'd climbed a tree, but it would have taken time. I couldn't afford to take chances with you there."

"That's a first," said Bulma, regaining her jovial manner. "My protector actually thinking of me!" Both women laughed sardonically at first, but gradually the truth of it pulled out genuine carefree laughter. Goku had always been more interested in the opponent than the outcome on that first trek for the dragon balls, and Vegeta would assuredly go out of his way to marginalize consequences of a fight. Bulma caught her hostess' eye, winding down. "Thank goodness," she sighed.

"Would you mind telling me what had you so quiet?" prodded Chichi. "You had me worried. I watched to see if you would faint."

Bulma munched on her trout, looking heavenward for adequate phrasing. "Of all things, after all I've seen, I was afraid of that dinosaur. Because like I mentioned before, I mistook you for someone like me, weak and hopeless like Vegeta says. I forgot you're a fighter, even if you're not in the same league as even your own son."

"Careful, you insult me," said Chichi, trying to joke and smiling widely to prove it.

"Honestly I thought you'd given up your training since you…"

"Since I what?" she asked, heart sinking with the apprehension toward the condemnations she saw coming.

"Well, you never showed interest in fighting, ever since Vegeta first came. After that everyone noticed you weren't very…"

"Supportive?"

Bulma looked carefully at a woman she wanted to remain on good terms with. Nevermind that she and Goku's old pals had made a habit of criticizing her behind her sons' backs and occasionally to their faces; this was the wife of Son Goku, and it was not right to alienate her even when she dared them to. Chichi met her gaze with quiet intensity. Her love and her hate were infamously ferocious. "You've explained it to me clearly before, why you didn't want Gohan to fight Cell."

"He was a little boy."

"He's a Saiyan, and he saved us."

"You tell me, Bulma," Chichi said before it could deteriorate into the same cyclical argument that swirled and boiled over without yielding results. She said it reproachfully, as if she were the older woman, and Bulma was affronted. "Whether you would trust your husband with your son's life. What do I care for the world? That's Goku's job. I'm for my family. I will love them," she said steadily, "and I will always hate when they fight."

"But that's what they are!" Bulma was unable to contain her frustration. "Saiyans live to fight! It's practically stamped on their genetic codes! Don't you realize it's cruel to deny them—"

"It is _cruel_," said Chichi with new vehemence which startled them both, "to deny them their humanity. I will raise my sons in the way I see fit." And her eyes permitted no argument. The fish in her hands grew cold with the breeze, neglected. She bent her head and nibbled. When she looked up she had thawed, and she looked apologetically to the only other human she could relate to on this level. "Please excuse my untoward anger. Trunks is a very fortunate child, with a loving mother and a strong father, who I hope for your sake is strong enough so he won't have to fight."

Bulma could have bristled at the presumptuousness of the wish, at the self-righteousness of this woman who worked to stifle her children into weakness. She opened her mouth to rebuke her with the sentiments of the world, grateful and dependent on those this wife and mother would steal for herself, and found she could not. There was something she was missing, something she lacked which she must have in order to justifiably attack the fortress of Chichi's identity. A terrible notion struck her. Could it be the panic of a parent helpless to defend her son? Could it be that for all her efforts to give Trunks a happy life unlike his father's, her showers of kisses and lullabies and sweets and toys, of all generic childhood things—for all her endeavors, she was yet untested? Or had she already revealed herself—and at this thought she froze—that stupid, reckless, inexcusable stunt she pulled, dragging her infant son to the battlefield—shot down—what had possessed her?

Before her was a woman who would never be so insidiously careless, whose extreme demands for caution were all she could give those who rejected them. The pit of her stomach tightened. This woman had fortitude. It was by no means her place to judge, and Bulma realized that the next time Yamcha made a deprecating remark she would smack him. She smiled. "He is lucky. That kid is spoiled rotten, I love him to death." And because Chichi tentatively returned her olive branch with a smile of her own, she grinned. "Don't tell him, but next month for his birthday we're taking him and Goten to a theme park, all the toons from the dawn of television. You and Gohan are welcome to tag along."

"Oh my, that's so generous of you," said Chichi, "but we couldn't possibly impose—" Not even finished here and she's already planning her next getaway…

"But I've got it all worked out already…"

38389259304756029453

Hours later, after a short walk to whet their anticipation of the next day's hike and a very brief washup in the chilly mountain water, Bulma had retired to her enormous camping house and Chichi was left to her own devices, namely digging a pit for waste and arranging the firewood in a neat pile for easy access. Once that was finished she entered her tent and, as the pure-hearted do, fell asleep precisely when she was ready.

Her dream was a memory.

Her hands clung to the quilt she had brought as those back then were clenched tightly with anxiety. Her brows furrowed, and her lips trembled. Backward so many years, she was trapped.

_Trapped beneath the perturbed and grinding gaze of her husband. _"W-what?" she asked.

"Do you hate me?" he repeated. That tone of his, reserved for opponents he must analyze before taking on, was breaking her heart. But she couldn't burst into wails and tears here in their bedroom; Gohan was having his first truly restful night in years, confident that in eight days this hellish three—no, four—years of training for Cell would be enough to clobber the abomination—for his strongest-in-the-universe father to send it away forever. She dare not upset the hastily rebuilt (or were they fabricated?) bonds between herself and her husband, the balance achieved by adoration and loving chastisement. She forced herself to keep her voice at a reasonable adult conversational volume, though she couldn't eliminate the tremor as his eyes bored into her, as if he were searching her thoughts for treachery, making her feel hollow and betrayed.

"Why would you say that?"

"Because you keep saying this, when he's not around. You say, 'he is not _you_', as if I'm someone you don't want him to be. Someone…" he squinted, peering at her core. "…you wouldn't be proud of."

Her eyes widened in horror. "No! No, that's not it!" She wrung her hands, pleading with herself to find the words, with him to understand (but could he?) what she had failed to convey to him, time and time again. "He shouldn't have to fight like you, he's not like that!"

"Like what?" His confusion was palpable, permeating her pores, pinning her ludicrous logic. "You knew I was a fighter all along. I thought you wanted him to learn to fight like me!"

"I did—I wanted us to teach him to defend himself, but not to risk his life!" This was bad. She checked her volume. "If you're around, why should he have that responsibility?"

"It's not just a responsibility, it's what we do. We're not just fighters, we're Saiyans. He needs it." He explained it curtly again. The pressure of this made him impatient.

"No, he doesn't." The direct contradiction caused him to look sharply at her. Her insides were churning, liquefying, but she held her ground. "You've—you were gone for so long you don't know—he doesn't love fighting."

As she feared, he was bewildered, completely uncomprehending. "Of course he does! He's fought with everyone since Vegeta, and been training ever since! Haven't you seen anything?"

"I have! _You_ haven't! Gohan, even that first time, shouting at me in the hospital, he was angry with me because he thought I was being selfish, not wanting him to go and bring them back!"

She held her breath. He was frowning, gravely, because now he was fighting within himself to push one of the two things he cherished most over the other, and the other was winning. "Aren't you? Even now…" She would be sick. He was accusing her, like the others, like his greedy, spiteful friends, and he must be right, he the hero must be—"Being selfish?" And if he said it, it must be so, and she was filthy, detestable, an iniquitous wretch for supposing that while he fought for the world, she must also fight…

"This family is all I ever wanted." But she couldn't. Perhaps this would be her only chance for her feelings, but she must redirect her self-loathing into energy to spend on him, infinitely more worthy than her. She must rather than pour out herself (useless, like sludge) make him understand. "Because you don't put this family first, I do. Goku, do what you need to do. You're my husband. I love you too much to stop you. But every time you drag our son into your problems, know that I will fight it. I will fight for our happiness." _Because someone has to, and no one else has the audacity. _

He was desperate. He knew she had given him something he should work with, but didn't know what. "…I don't understand. What is it you want? You want the Earth to be destroyed so I can be with my family?"

"No, Goku. The Earth is our home, and I love it. I'm saying whenever you won't act as head of this family, I must. So I guess I want you to know why I act the way I do. Is that…enough?"

"I don't know." So smoothly that it seemed too sudden, he drifted to her, and lay his hands on her shoulders. It was his way of caressing her, telling her he held her dear to him and had claimed her, no matter what, as his to protect. "I know that even more that you're mad at me, you're sad. I know you love Gohan more than you love me, but I know you love me very much." She ached; he pulled her in: _you're for me and I'm for you. _"And I know there's no other way." Nestled against his broad chest, her favorite place in the world, she could only surrender to the truth as he made it, accepting reality as he painted it. _Don't you know that I love you?_ His heart sang to hers; they were united. _All I've done and will do is for you…please, please take it and know that I do love you._

Her subconscious objected, 'didn't I imagine those extra things?' but the memory of it was clear. Underlying his spoken response throughout was a stream of his being, even more definitively him than his ki signature, and it was for her heart only. To receive, to treasure; she held it to remind herslf of why he was worth fighting for.

Now they had come apart. He was saying, "I'd never let Gohan die, you gotta trust me," with is thousand-suns smile and she, the willing fool, believed in him once more—

_SSSKEEEEEEEE!_

Screaming!

She shot up in her sleeping bag, instantly awake. No, it was a machine. It wasn't metal against metal, a scraping, but an unbroken high frequency, like that of a bat or a cicada. She freed herself from the confines of the lined burrito blanket. On a trip to West City for clothing she had waited in line behind a pack of teenagers, and one of the animals experimenting with her ringtones had activated an abominable shrieking (Chichi had wasted no time in swiping and stomping it out of her misery, paying al charges gracefully) like this. She whipped past the tent flap and zipped to Bulma's camping house. Deducing the sound wasn't being produced there, she pounded lightly enough on the door not to knock it in.

Bulma opened it, bleary-eyed. "Chi-chan, whassa matter—" She clapped her hands to her ears. Apparently the walls kept out high pitches but not vibrations. "What is going on?" she yelled, disoriented and angry.

"I was hoping you would tell me," Chichi yelled back.

"How the hell should I—" Just then it cut off. Bulma let down her arms. The forest immediately surrounding them had no sign of intrusion. A toad croaked, puncturing the restored silence.

Presently there was a series of clicks, fuzzy like those ending telephone calls. An intercom, mouthed Bulma, uselessly as Chichi was looking upward, listening raptly. "Good evening," said a tinny voice. "We have traced the most powerful ki signatures of the planet to this location and have reason to believe this to be the Son residence. If Son Gohan would kindly come out with your hands up, we would like to have a word with you. This is the Red Ribbon Reborn Army."

Bulma groaned.

**A/N:** How did that stream-of-consciousness treat you? Don't worry, I only plan on one more of those heart-to-heart GCC flashbacks, if only to refer to the story title vaguely. If it looks like I took a jab at Bulma, I did; VB fics are great, and I love them, but they sometimes ignore troubling aspects of her personality and Breifs family life. This marks the beginning of the real story. The next chapter's already finished, but I don't want to upload it till I've written the one after it, so I don't contradict myself. I realize there are few Chichi fans, but I see folks reading and not reviewing, so please, please drop me a line! Approve or disapprove?


	5. Scuffle

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Dragonball Z, Akira Toriyama does. Has anyone heard of the new movie, though? That might be cool, but I heard Mr. Toriyama did approve of that Evolution abomination…

Chapter 5

Bulma slumped against the curved door frame of her domed Capsule Corp. camping house. The peace of a weekend spent with a friend had been ruptured from the beginning. The vanilla stew, the allosaurus, and now a full-scale assault on private grounds of Mt. Paozu! She was the daughter of one of the richest men on Earth, and the guest of the wife of the most powerful hero in Earth's history; how dare Fate stoop to dropping such calamities in the path of one so beautiful? Well, she might have invited trouble at sixteen with her attitude, but a woman of her status shouldn't have to deal with this! She mentally shook her fist at the skies, and as she looked up quit her grumblings. "Chichi, does the village at the base of the mountain hold laser-tag tournaments?"

"Don't be silly," Chichi admonished, though her eyes too were raised and met with the inconceivable. "The villagers are averse to modern entertainment; if this was their doing the parents would have put a halt to it immediately." Some incorrigible youngsters might try to blow up a daikon field as a prank, but the older generation who had previously attempted such tomfoolery was forever one step ahead.

Above the two women were lasers, sweeping the skies in erratic patterns. As they watched, the red lines intercepted one another, criss-crossing and combining, compacting into thicker rows and columns, swinging and jumbling, forming something unprecedented: a paragraph. Bulma groaned again, rubbing her temple; it was a rant. "Chi, would you do the honors? I feel a migraine coming on…" For a change, not brought on by Trunks!

Her hostess obliged, squinting into the cold night air at the block of red text suspended in the stars. "'We the illustrious Red Ribbon Reborn Army greet you, Son family, in the name of world peace! Yes it's true, the revolution is at hand! And you can be a part of us! To help make it happen! This is an invitation! Actually, it's a draft! We saw you five years back, we want you, yes you, with us, in our grand army so we can conquer the world and paint it red and call it planet Red and make strawberries the international food of mandated choice ok who put that in Jerry?' GAH!" Chichi screamed in frustration. She was reading it word for word, but could abide it no longer. "Their grammar is atrocious! Even their name is wrong: 'Reborn' should come before 'Red Army' as a labeling adjective! Spanish is on another continent!"

"Guess all these years weren't enough for them to rebuild competently," Bulma mused grumpily. "I really thought Dr. Gero was the last we'd seen of these dopes. It sucks that they picked now to rash the party; now we can't camp anymore. But I guess that's it—I'll go get the jet." She made to retrieve the capsule from the house, but hesitated. Chichi stood rigid. "Hey Chi, no worries. We'll do this another time."

"No," said the Ox King's daughter. "I won't let them."

"What's wrong?"

She looked back to Bulma. "You fly on out of here. If you can contact Krillin-san, Yamcha-san, or Tien-san I would very much appreciate it. Tell them I would like their help. "

"Why?" Bulma asked, feeling it was a stupid question. She heard fear edging into her own voice. "What for? What are you doing?"

"They're at my house." Chichi said it flatly. "I'm going to expel them off the premises, and I'd like those with experience to find and destroy their headquarters once I'm finished."

Bulma gaped. Her friend had just declared her intention to dispose of what was likely the head fleet of the most notorious criminal organization of the century and leave the small fry to the Z fighters! "Are you crazy?!" she screeched. "They'd shoot you before you got to the front door!"

"I can handle it."

"I know what you're thinking!" She jabbed an index finger. "You just killed a T-rex today! You're invincible! You're champion supreme!"

"It was an allosaurus," Chichi deadpanned. "And yes I am champion supreme! I've won at the Nation's Strongest five years straight now!" She clapped her hand over her mouth, her face reddening, mortified.

"Oh please, everyone knows you do it for the money," Bulma rolled her eyes. "That's why the guys don't enter. Chichi, let's wait and let them handle it. You're not a suped-up destructo-monkey from space, you're a housewife."

The glare of the lasers wavered. Another message urging Gohan's cooperative surrender appeared, with an ominous threat at the tailend: "It would be in your family's best interests to see what we have to offer". Chichi's hands clenched. "I have made my decision. Now," she said, pivoting, "I recommend you remain where they do not detect you; I will be concentrating on other things and may not be able to protect you in addition to my house."

"Ooh! You know Vegeta'd get you if you let anything happen to me!"

"I'll take my chances."

"Wait! Argh, okay, hold it!" Before Chichi could blast off on foot, Bulma zipped in front of her. "Wouldn't you rather ride over there instead? On my scooter? My house has too much energy emission to go unnoticed for much longer. Let me just encapsulate it and we can go." At her reluctance, she added, "You'll need tons of juice to fight them—you don't want to waste it on running, do you?" Chichi pursed her lips, but nodded, so Bulma ducked inside for the remote, sure to keep an eye on her.

True to her word, in a jiffy they were whipping past trees, terrorizing the woodland creatures which inhabited them, leaving in their wake paths of buzz-cut grass and headless flowers. If Chichi weren't so angry she might have been afraid for her life, but as it was she was preparing to put her life on the line for her home, so she clung to the second set of handlebars (Bulma had installed them years ago, in case an occasion called for an old-fashioned dragon ball hunt) and kept silence while the driver chattered in a tizzy. "Now that I think of it it's strange they didn't reappear sooner, what with Dr. Gero's work broadcasted worldwide—I mean, Gero's work was recognizable, especially after Android 13, so that misrepresentation might have bolstered a wannabe commander, and whoever he is he's done it. It's taken them five years to reorganize, but they're here now and they've targeted Gohan. But if they're smart enough to realize who defeated Gero, how can they be stupid enough to challenge him?

"I'm scared," continued Bulma in the same revealing tone. "You may have clobbered the dinosaur, but this isn't an animal, it's an army of semi-intelligent criminals motivated by greed and power. I mean, they're weaklings who think they're real baddies, which is almost as bad as if they were, because the only one who beat the whole bunch of them at once was Son-kun, and now even Yamcha has passed that level, but we're all alone—" She bolted upright in her seat. "Hey! We're all alone! Shouldn't one of those jerks have come to check on us by now? Our ki must be going off the charts!"

"A normal human's ki is extremely difficult to hone in on," Chichi reminded her. "The only people who would know where to look are Krillin and the boys, and they are likely to be distracted, what with their sparring nonsense."

"Okay, a normal person like me isn't gonna flare on someone's scouter, but Vegeta's done it before!" _Within the city_, she added mentally.

"Well…" Chichi said timidly. "He did say he wouldn't come." Before Bulma could argue, she added gently, "If he didn't sense your fear of the dinosaur, maybe it's simply too far. Perhaps there are too many human ki surrounding us." Chichi seldom white-lied, on principle, but she wished calmness on her friend's ki as they sped, even though Bulma seemed to brush off the comment. Suddenly her demeanor hardened. "Gracious me," she said in steely tones. "There are vultures at my door."

Bulma released the gas pedal as they went along the forest's border and cut the engine. Above buzzed twelve fighter jets and one warship. The jets were compact, built in imitation of wasps, with room for two gunmen and a pilot, who could choose to operate a single gun at the front. These flitted about in a webbed pattern with the precise nature Bulma recalled from her few memories of them; there was no room in the Red Ribbon (Reborn) Army for minor discrepancies. The warship was massive, a sluggish tubular vehicle hovering two hundred yards from the house. Scores of windows striped the sides in three rows, and rungs flanked it laterally. On the hull the symbol was painted garishly, and at the front an actual ribbon was attached and undulating unevenly in the drafts from the jets. "It could easily carry five hundred personnel," stage-whispered Bulma.

"More than that," said Chichi, nodding to herself. She dismounted. "It must be cramped living quarters."

Bulma did a double-take at her, doubly ineffectual in the darkness. "You can't be serious! Chichi, please, let's go get Vegeta or Piccolo or Tien and Chaotzu, they'll take these guys out for good!"

"It'll be too late by then." She was looking at the house, quaint and defenseless as the jets edged nearer in their passes.

"You're being ridiculous!" snapped Bulma, her patience worn through. "It's a house, not Goku's grave!"

She shut her mouth. _I liked it better when you called him Son-kun, _Chichi's back seemed to say. She didn't glare at her, but her voice conveyed the frigidity of one let down by a trusted comrade. "I'd say this spot is as safe as any, but if you feel threatened in any way then by all means discreetly remove yourself from my property. If have made my decision. If I die, my father gets custody of the children, and if he cannot cope then I leave Piccolo to it until they can revive me with the dragon balls. Thank you for a pleasant day; it was wonderful to have you."

With that, she vanished. Bulma restrained a squeak of fear and waited in the dark by her scooter for Chichi's self-announcement. She always did tend toward a loud first impression; Bulma expected fireworks. In the tree branches hanging overhead various discontented animals complained softly to one another; she counted herself among them. "Why'd I have to go and be a good friend?"

Within three minutes Chichi emerged. In a wink she was standing on her roof, and a spotlight from the warship caught her hands akimbo in a belligerent stance. The tinny voice from the speaker all but cackled. "You must be Son Chichi, Gohan's mother! Pleasure to meet you! Have you come out to do business with us? I'm afraid the one we really want to see is Gohan. We realize you keep him on a tight schedule, but if you could spare him for a few moments—"

"YOU LISTEN TO ME," said Chichi, effortlessly overwhelming the warship's sound system. "I've fought more worthy opponents than you have in all your battles combined, and it's well established that an enemy's will brings more to the field than his strength. I may not be my son," she said, "but I may tell you I shall give you a battle, if that is what you wish, and a most mismatched battle it would be. If it comes to that I cannot guarantee your lives. However I am willing, because of my husband's policy, to ignore your trespassing. Leave now," she barked, "or I shall escort you from the property by force."

"You and your son?" asked the warship eagerly.

"Myself," answered the housewife. "This is your final warning, delinquents, before you see what your troublemaking yields!" As she paused she noticed that the buzzing of the jets had crecendoed to a roar as they approached the house. Chichi had been glaring straight at the windshield of the warship, but her peripheral vision and training allowed her to track the jets during her address. The warship gave no visible signal, but she was certain an attack would come in the next five seconds. Loosening her arms from their rest, she decided. A jet swooped six inches too close, and she made a running leap. The jet swerved to miss her, but she grabbed at a hanging pipe in the underbelly and used the wind resistance to heave herself over onto the clear glass casing around the passengers' heads. They seemed surprised. Chichi punched through the glass; then they seemed panicked. She took a hold on the pilot's neck and hurled him out of his seat and into the night sky. Another jet behind them caught him in its propeller and sank, wheezing out smoke that smelled of iron. Before lowering herself into the pilot's seat Chichi hit the pressure points of the two remaining soldiers' necks, putting them to a long sleep they might not awaken from. Then she went to the races.

Bulma, captive audience below, was floored. "Look at her go," she whispered to herself, aghast at the destructive powers of the housewife. "I knew she was violent, but I didn't know she could work a fighter jet. She's even better than me! How can that be?"

Fighter's trained instinct moved Chichi to incorporate every bit of the controls in her strategy, which consisted of: take out the jets and worry about the whopper later. This was proving easy, as the warship evidently was content to abandon its scouts to her fury, not deigning to fire a single shot from its many guns. So she weaved between the fools who dared attempt pincer-traps and blitzes, and struck without mercy at the metal sides and unenforced glass tops (apparently the RRR Army was on a tight budget) alike. She smiled grimly, aware her last hit had sent the jet twirling in a tailspin. The first three had been easy pickings, underestimating her and moving in basic patterns a child could see through. The next three demanded more attention, but their strategy was no match for her whiplash cunning. Five more of the original twelve to go. She blasted the one riding the stream beside her with the handgun she found strapped under her seat. When that didn't work, she plugged it and tossed the bomb ahead and to the left enough to explode the tagalong jet when they met. She decreased the speed, turning to head back toward the house from the valley mouth, and used the time to climb back and procure the second seat's gun.

Facing front she saw the third-to-last jet engaging her in chicken. Obligingly she planted her feet at the front, standing just behind the propeller, waiting, and smiling as she saw the two passengers jump to their deaths (ejection parachutes sold separately) while the pilot kept steady. She felt a split second of impact for the win, and then she dove, dove, to where she had predicted the next jet would be. From her slippery perch on the glass she quickly shot the other jet below in one wing and the bowels where she believed the engine to be, and was not disappointed. She then tore off the glass by hand from her ride's metal base and shot each soldier point-blank, as they were fumbling for their own weapons; the one in the center cockpit had enough time to aim at her before she lightly kicked it out of his hands. She cleared out the pilot's seat for herself and took a moment to screen the area for any unseen others, but the radar confirmed there were none, and she was relieved not to see a tiny blip betraying Bulma's position, though presumably the warship might have more intricate instruments.

Her hands were trembling. She was angry, and she was terrified; what she'd always thought criminals felt constantly. She had acted with just cause, but would Goku have approved? If she pondered it she would cry, and she must continue for now. She landed the jet carefully at a gentle incline, unbuckled herself, and stepped out.

**A/N:** Longest chapter yet! I'm actually behind schedule; that is, I keep writing lots but not getting to the point in the story I planned. Please give me any advice you can spare for my pathetic attempt at action—as you can see I'm compensating for lack of experience with brutality, which makes her badass. The worst is still to come; we've got three more chapters to go unless I decide to split one. Some of you are confused: this story is set post-Cell, so Goku is dead and will not be coming to rescue Chichi, though she wishes he would; any of the Z fighters could wipe the Red Ribbon (Reborn) Army no sweat because they're not really all that powerful, but Chichi's a normal human and has more trouble, though I make her strong because I like her capable of backing up her words; this isn't a romance fic, it's a character study (laughs at self). Ok, it's me throwing Chichi in a barrel of unlovable monkeys for kicks.

Tell the truth, am I bad at action? I'd like to know so I can edit the next chapter, which is all typed up and needs tweaking. Constructive criticism welcomed with tea and biscuits!


	6. Death Sentence

**Disclaimer**: Akira Toriyama's epic manga series Dragon Ball Z does not belong to me.

Chapter 6

Vegeta refused to turn off the television. This was the first unmonitored access he'd had in months and damned if he'd squelch it on a premonition. He lowered himself further into the sofa (Mr. Briefs' armchair, which he'd claimed the first three years of his extended stay for after training hours, had been "relocated" since his return from space training, so Bulma could sit next to him when he didn't want her on his lap) stubbornly. The special effects of the action films were clumsy enough to induce nausea, draining the fun out of even the simplest gorefests (an 11th adaptation of Troy, for example) and leaving him no choice but to go the tamer route. It was just as well; this Negaduck was quite the tactician. Vegeta was beginning to admire the animated creations over the stupidity of whoever the enemy in the current human war was. But if Bulma caught him watching this tripe he'd never hear the end of it, so he kept the volume low.

It was as he was silently cheering on the Powerpuff Girls' nemesis (and…brother?) with the fearsome name that he first felt it, that tingling sensation at the back of his mind which took the form of a sentient consciousness but wasn't a Saiyan or telepathic alien. That obliviously nagging touch could only belong to his mate, and try as he might to ignore it she was too persistent. The large-brained primate on screen laughed maniacally, and the Saiyan ran a hand down his face tiredly. He had thought to dismiss her for this weekend, and she had agreed they both wanted privacy, but her mind pressed in on his. It was working feverishly, anxious at something immediately before her and also livid at how it was out of her control. She was afraid and cut off from resources, and without trying to she was summoning him for protection—or, he judged, confounded by her nerve, for her ease of mind. He could almost hear, but didn't need to—didn't _want _to, he insisted—her fervent cry: _If Vegeta were here, if only he were here I wouldn't be scared._

But they had an understanding! Vegeta, not particularly occupied, intended to keep his promise _not _to come to her aid in the event of unprecedented travesty. If he made it a matter of princely honor, there really was no question. And besides, hadn't that harpy mate of Kakarott's sworn her own negligible competence would be sufficient? Let her be proven wrong, then. She could learn her place! And so, though Bulma's presence in his mind only grew, he turned up the volume.

"Oh man oh man oh man oh _man!_" Bulma had checked to see if she could hotwire the scooter if the key wouldn't work, reset her watch, even switched the navigation system to Mandarin Chinese and repeated a few phrases, but she was still nervous. Chichi had moved to stand before the doorway of her house, as if to say, "None of your jet soldiers made it across this threshold; how do you believe _you'll_ fare?" A small disc-shaped device was deployed from the warship. It floated to each crumpled jet, even the one Chichi had landed, and verified the deceased status of the soldiers. To Bulma's horror and Chichi's disgust, any time it scanned a live specimen it shot a ray, and a sizzle followed.

The process had taken fifteen minutes because of the distances between wreckages. Chichi hadn't moved, but Bulma had resumed working on her mobile radio. It was coming together nicely with the spare parts she'd stowed inside the scooter, and she hoped to have it ready before more bloodshed. Her face had rivulets of cold sweat running off her chin, but her hands were sure in their placements.

The ship's speaker came on with the intolerable scraping. Chichi didn't flinch. Bulma stared at the gaudy hull in dread. "Well done," said the tinny voice. As it continued it sounded impressed but cheery and undaunted, and evidently it wasn't bluffing. "You have dispatched thirty-six of our finest troops and, in the manner of your late husband, you did it mostly through sheer dumb luck at our underestimation. We all know your son Gohan is the only fighter with the capability to end this in your favor if all our powers are pitted against his, so why don't you retrieve him and what might happen next could be avoided."

"My husband," said Chichi stiffly, "defeated the Red Ribbon Army as a child not through luck, but because even then he was better than you. I know because I remember him at that time and he could have shot the whole lot of you down in one blow." _She's exaggerating, _thought Bulma, tinkering away, _but it sounds great. _"He was never afraid of you; why should I be? I will defeat you, and when this is over I will rid my land of you vermin." She crossed her arms, willing to let them make the first move.

The ship began shutting off auxiliary hovering motors in preparation for landing. A series of clangs signified the closing of the windows, which meant they planned to empty the ship completely of troops. Bulma wasn't planning to wait that long. With a final rewiring adjustment and push of a jigsaw metal piece into place, she activated her radio.

But the reading yielded no results when she typed the number. She punched it in again, and the screen winked at her: no findings. She cursed it for not working properly when her contribution was flawless. There was no troubleshooting to be done, the problem lay with the receiving end. "Come on, Krillin, pick up! Pick up!"

"I had my doubts about this, guys, but it's turned out great!" Krillin stretched his arms out luxuriously.

"You just about had a heart attack when we took off," said Gohan.

"But you were shouting and waving your arms!" said Goten from behind him, giggling. Trunks gave a squawk and flapped his arms, imitating a stork. Gohan flushed as they laughed at his expense, but he took it with a laugh as well, putting a hand behind his head good-naturedly.

Trunks' flapping was halted by a clawed three-fingered hand clamping over his wrist—a green hand. "You think this is funny?" Piccolo stood regally. He seemed offended by their joy, glaring at the two little boys with disdain. "Let's spar a little while, and then you'll see how funny this situation is. It's bad enough you tricked Gohan into coming with you, but he dragged me along!"

"Sorry Mr. Piccolo!" said Goten cheerfully.

Trunks looked eagerly up at him. "We're gonna play the hitting game! Me an' Goten are really good at it!"

Piccolo snorted at the six-year-old and five-year-old counterpart, who beamed obliviously to all the tall people. The green alien had been jolted from his early morning meditation by a tackle from the terrible two. After their release from their mothers' custody Gohan had gotten Krillin to agree to a pit-stop at the Lookout. Then Trunks dropped the barrel, revealing he'd left something important back at his house. Goten compounded on his cries and please so that Krillin indulgently acquiesced, and somehow Gohan convinced Piccolo to come along "for some air at a healthy altitude". The flight down to Capsule Corp went calmly enough, Trunks appeased and boisterous Goten bouncing like a flea from his brother's back to Krillin's, not having learned to fly yet (Trunks held Gohan's hand). But the moment the group set foot on the ground, the two boys, who'd been giggling excitedly, which wasn't suspicious being so ingrained in their behavior, took off like squirrels at a walnut harvest. They didn't bother splitting up, making a beeline for what Gohan assumed was the outer shell of a new, larger Gravity Room.

No sooner were they all aboard than Trunks pressed the muffin button and the rockets ignited. In retrospect any one of the adults could have blown an escape hole through the ceiling, but it would have taken time to charge, and they were all still shocked at suddenly being thrust into the air by a rocket-ship. Then there was the matter of deciphering the coordinates. Terror subsided only when they learned their destination was the nearest hospitable planet…the next solar system, only three hours away, thanks to alien technology. They passed the time arguing and blaming at first, but Krillin wisely noted that though the route was fixed the fuel tanks seemed to have no shortage of gas, so they might as well think of it as a twist on their vacation. They would still go camping—but in space! Their supplies would even last the same, since Piccolo only needed water, and there were extra rations on board.

So they landed on the nearest planet with tolerable atmosphere, unaware it was the first Vegeta had depopulated years ago in his search for Goku. The dry air and diverse terrain made it a veritable fighter's paradise, as Trunks and Goten needed no prompting to explore during tag. Gohan and Krillin kicked off an amiable match with enough rules to preserve their surroundings while allowing for creativity. Piccolo sat morosely, but was unable to meditate because of a thought. "Gohan. Why do you think Vegeta didn't try to stop us?"

Not missing a side swipe, his protégé answered guilelessly. "Oh, probably so he wouldn't have to deal with us. He couldn't even sense us at this range unless I did a mondo Kamehameha, and then I'm sure he'd rush on over for the rumble!"

Krillin wheezed, recovering from a tap to the gut. "I thought you…hadn't been training!"

"Or maybe he knew we'd be sent here and we would meet something."

Trunks popped up over his shoulder. "You really think so?"

"…I doubt it," said Piccolo, opening one eye to regard him. "But even more than that, I'm wondering about the women." Krillin veered tragically off course from his (nose) dive, plummeting headfirst fifteen meters from Gohan, who stared at the alien open mouthed. "Don't tell me you forgot about them! I won't be the one to explain this to them, especially that cow!" _She'll run me over._

_She'd flatten him_, thought Gohan, blanching. "W-we could say we were kidnapped! We'll go back on the ship after painting it, apologize to Bulma, tell her we'll pay for the fuel, whatever! Anything to get her to back us up when we say an enslaved alien civilization warped us to their home planet so we'd free them, and after we, uh, cleared up misunderstandings _peacefully_, they lent us this ship they modeled after Capsule Corp designs to get us home!"

"Or we could get home before they do, refill the tank ourselves, and pretend we camped in the national park!" Krillin submitted.

This was accepted by all as a fine idea, and they all went back to dinking around.

Chichi stood firmly before her home. The warship had landed, sending shockwaves through the earth, heedless of the likely disturbance to the daikon field. Chichi growled. The soldiers ran out from several doors, in single file, each holding a gun that seemed of only slightly less power than those of the elite air force. They quickly and effectively affixed themselves in four contingents (a straggler would be shot for disgrace), the rows straight but angled so it would feel to Chichi that the house was surrounded, this time by men and not mere machinery. They did this in eerie silence, focused on the task, yet Chichi scrutinized every man sharply, anticipating a cheap shot she knew the villains were not above. When the last soldier was in place, the commander exited the ship.

Bulma had progressed beyond fear into fury. "Krillin, you worthless baldy! Pick up the damn phone! 'Emergency phone number', I said, 'I would only call you if it were an emergency, so on the one in one thousand chance that it rings _pick it up!_' I'm going to stretch your pudgy midget body between Okinawa and Hong Kong. Then I'll split it into seven pieces and send them to the seven continents, and dance all over the world, _your grave!_" The dial tone grated on her ear like kindergarteners singing BINGO; she would smash it on the next try. She looked toward her friend, instantly seized with despair. "Chichi, hang in there," she said, fingers poised for another round. "You can't let them blow it up!"

The commander was a man of average build. His brown hair was uncovered and parted neatly to the back and his right, his forehead showing creases which might convince some he shouldered the same portion of problems allotted to all humans, but Chichi saw a thug and a trickster. He probably held a decent occupation in an innocuous town as a cover, but he struck Chichi as false, and as he smiled at her in greeting she frowned. "Now we meet the way I would have preferred in the first place." If he were close enough to extend a polite hand she would have spat in it. "I am very impressed, Son Chichi. You managed to dispatch one of our most talented squadrons. The recruiting process never ends!" He laughed heartily, his soldiers looming behind him, begging with their shielded eyes to fill the slots. They were all trigger-happy lapdogs, tongues lolling—each looking for an opportunity to advance in rank, and this priority mission made her everyone's coin in the well.

"What makes you think you can get away with this?" She remembered Bulma's incredulous words. "You seek out my son because he is the most powerful being on Earth, and you threaten his family? Do you really believe he would go with you, serve under you?"

"Absolutely." His smile was not a grimace or a sneer, but easy, and it unsettled Chichi the most—if she were intimidated by these goons, that is. Most psychopaths have a talent for posing among normalcy. He smoothly dipped his hand into his pocket, slowly and calmly. He held a pistol that looked more like a watergun, partly translucent and ruby-red, laughable, but the small container on its back held a liquid.

Chichi narrowed her eyes. "Biological warfare?" Bulma's magazines served a purpose after all!

"The term is persuasion, actually," said the Commander. "Biological persuasion. Once I had gained satisfactory resources I had to amend the previous Army's procedures for extinguishing opposition. But you'll excuse me, I am getting ahead of myself," he said, the smiling gentleman." You see, years after the destruction of the first Red Ribbon Army I, an ignorant member of the next generation, gained appreciation for the organization's goals. Fortunately the only facility out of commission turned out to be the headquarters; the research and training centers had simply been abandoned; the Army had abandoned its vision. I took the liberty of learning from the few files compiled after the deaths of Red and Black that the entity which had accomplished this feat was none other than your husband, Goku, at that time a former participant of the Strongest in the World Tournament. I made him a priority. I knew if this revived Army were to have a chance against such monstrous power, we must resort to an equally unprecedented monstrosity.

"Just prior to those magnificent Cell Games, during which we were suddenly deprived of our main foe, the outbreak of the Staining heart virus had all the best experts of the world on the run for a cure. Accordingly our own doctors took to manipulation of the virus in order to put it to use. It took years, and though we experienced some setbacks, last year we finally gained the ability to inject a modified virus of our own creation into anyone we choose." He patted his own gun proudly. "So as you can see, I took charge, revived the dream, and here we are."

Bulma, crouched at the edge of the forest, could do nothing but stare at the meeting between the two formidable adversaries and make a face at the Commander's arrogance. "Feh," she scoffed. "We'll see how great of a virus this is once I get it in my lab!"

Now Commander Burgundy strode four paces before the soldiers, gesturing with his arms loosely. His voice carried over the mountain, smooth and artful. "But you've inflicted a loss on us, an unprovoked attack. My men had orders to hold fire and you murdered them!" he shook his head, grinning_. Oh, you!_ "How might we rectify this? I, Commander Burgundy, have a solution!" He raised his right hand, the soldiers raised their clicking arms, and he raised his voice. "A bargain! One life for thirty-six! Son Gohan, answer me this! Will you permit or prevent this charitable justice?!"

Chichi remained intrepid with all weapons trained on her. "Well aren't you the assuming fool," she said. "Gohan is away at the moment, and even if he were here I wouldn't allow him to dirty his hands on trash like you."

"Gohan is not present?" Burgundy's forehead contracted and formed striations. "For his truancy he shall be—" He shrugged. "Then it can't be helped. Stun!"

Every gun went upright for the setting and leveled out again to aim at her. She exhaled through her nose. She felt Bulma's ki freeze in fright, but her friend was eclipsed on her sensitivity radar by the Commander and his malevolence. She reasoned he couldn't have planned anything for her capture, and the dragon balls could fix what he did. But she said sincerely, "Even a hundred of those at once won't stop me."

"In succession, they will," the Commander said with confidence. "Ready—"

He stopped. There was a rumbling behind him. Against his own protocol he glanced. The back of the fifth contingent had encountered a difficulty; men flew this way and that, some at ninety degree angles, and as they fell their weapons, with a built in explosion feature set to detonate in the event their carriers failed to grip them properly, were laying waste to the hapless poor dodgers below.

"RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" said the one responsible. "Chichi! Get the kids outta here!"

"Dad!" exclaimed Chichi without thinking, and instantly clamped her mouth shut. But Commander Burgundy had heard her. His head swiveled back. His vile cold green eyes met her wide-open brown ones, and her throat closed; she was speechless, having sentenced own father to a violent death. Her feet wouldn't move, her arms were numb, her breath was arrested. She saw him fling his arm languidly into the air and signal to the ship. The helmets on the soldiers each had a protruding headpiece, and they all blinked as the order was relayed.

"Chichi! Kinto'un can fly you! Let Gohan take Goten!" The Ox King was wading through from the east. The light of dawn gleamed from beyond the hills, and she saw his silhouette dwarf the soldiers, and his arm sweeping them into the air, and a makeshift club in the other, a young oak tree, smash columns of them, helmets and boots from the dropping from the branches with each lift. His older self, she realized, had reawakened, and she bore witness to it with a fear-stricken heart.

Suddenly she shouted to Commander Burgundy. "Call off your men at once!" He faced her, openly enjoying himself. The soldiers who had fled the onslaught of her father only drew away a distance and shot with their weapons still on stun. She threw aside her bluster, her puffed-up self-righteous power tone, and gazed at him, warning him with all her bearing. "If he dies, I will destroy you." Her body was white, pale with rage only just kept at bay.

His arm extended upward, and the soldiers made the change.

Laser shots sang. The Ox King's yell cut short, then returned all the more impassioned, higher and more dogged. Another barrage of shots was applied, and with each of his cries became louder and more ardent, until twenty meters away from the house the sun glinted on his horns, and she saw him, oozing and sputtering and hysterically weeping at his failure, and as he let the trunk fall they circled about him and they shot him once more.

Chichi moved to him.

**A/N:** Well now, that was a monster to type up! Sorry it took so long. I still feel like I've missed something, but I've got everything planned out for the end. Next is the Super Chapter, where stuff gets real, so it'll be twice as long as usual.

Thanks for the reviews, guys, I'm flattered! Keep 'em coming! For the most part I try to answer reviews through private messaging, but guest reviews might be tricky.

One guest reviewer "Alex" felt that my jab at Bulma's bad parenting skills with carelessly bringing her infant son into a battlefield was misogynistic. S/he felt I was dumping on Bulma for the masculine adventurous qualities of her personality, as if I were implying because she was reckless and not nurturing as the traditional mother would be she was a bad mother. This is not a motherhood narrative. I put that bit in so Bulma might respect Chichi's decision and empathize on a level they'd both had experience in. You could argue that Chichi's being reckless in heading into certain death is just as bad and even hypocritical for the times she berated Goku! But Bulma flew into the battlefield with Trunks when the smarter and more loving thing to do would have been to leave him behind. At that point she was acting as a bad mother. Chichi is putting her home and family before her life. Maybe, Alex, that's another typical gagworthy characterization in your dislikable motherhood narratives, but it's consistent with her character and I admire it. If I were being misogynistic Chichi wouldn't have lasted this long and Yamcha or Tien or hey, Vegeta, would have come to the rescue by now. So thanks very much for your input, and that's why I'm not a misogynist sympathizer.

Also, to the confessed twelve-year-old bored with his/her life: I'm glad you're taking time out of your precious days to read my fic. However, there are better things you could do. Try googling "online literature" and you'll get a decent amount of text with cultural significance and merit.


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